


The Countess and the Highwayman

by Jeannie Peneaux (JeanniePeneaux)



Series: Tactful [5]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Tacked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanniePeneaux/pseuds/Jeannie%20Peneaux
Summary: The Earl and Countess of Warwick return from the continent.





	The Countess and the Highwayman

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the one shot I promised of Lydia and Warwick. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Wheelrider kindly looked this over for me and resolved 110 mistakes! Thank you, Wheelrider. :)

The Earl and Countess of Warwick, returning from a lengthy honeymoon on the continent, had, for the last ten miles or so, lapsed into a comfortable silence. The roads were in adequate condition, and since leaving Dover, they had made excellent time. Having spent two nights thus far on the road, the carriage had by now entered Derbyshire and approached the home of Lady Warwick’s sister, Pemberley. There was to be a gathering of sorts there, for three out of five of the former Miss Bennets--and their respective husbands--had been invited to stay with the Darcys for some weeks. Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Bingley had travelled together from Hertfordshire and were already present. Lydia, being Lydia, was late--a thing that was not entirely unexpected by the hosts. The only pall on the gathering, in the eyes of the young countess, was that Miss Bingley was to be present; she had crossed swords with the woman in both Hertfordshire and London. Lady Warwick was not by any means pleased to have to remain in the same, albeit very large, house with her for a prolonged period. 

Her Ladyship divided her time equally between admiring the fine workmanship on her new travelling gown from Paris and appreciating the handsome man that sat opposite her, his long booted legs propped up on the seat beside her. She was enormously pleased with him: he had taken her to Italy, to Spain, and then finally to Paris for nearly a month--Lydia’s French had never been particularly good, but she had discovered a great talent for remembering the essential vocabulary for lace and velvet. A staggeringly enormous wardrobe had been purchased for Lady Warwick and not one murmur of irritation had crossed her husband’s lips during the ordering of it. Eventually she, although herself entirely delighted to be so surrounded by rolls of costly silks and taffetas, had thought to ask if he was not at all bored; the Earl had merely smiled and softly commented that he had been correct, so long ago in Hatchard’s--shops were where Lydia was at her happiest, and so they were to be tolerated, and even encouraged.

Feeling his wife’s eyes on him, Justin opened one eye. “I have been thinking, my pet. There is really no putting it off any longer. Once we return to London after this trip to Pemberley, you will have to be presented to the Queen. I do not know how I have forgotten it for such a long time.”

“Well, I must say, Justin, I am a little glad of it, for I have been wishing to meet Her Majesty this age...I mean to advise her that the current rules on court dress are against every notion of good taste. Depend upon it, once I have spoken to her, the English Court will no longer be so dreadfully old-fashioned in comparison to the rest of Europe.”

Both the Earl’s eyes had opened during this speech and the faintest glimmer of alarm had crept in alongside the amusement that so frequently lurked when his wife spoke. 

“You wish to correct the Queen of England as regards to her rules for dress, in her own drawing room?”

“Well, of course I do, my love. Do you see any other peers in Europe being forced to endure such a ridiculous thing as hoops and a high waist? The feathers she may keep, for I have seen them used very prettily by some French ladies when we were at the Opera in Paris--you know, the ones being so very noisy in the vestibule.”

“I’m not so sure they deserve the description of ‘ladies’, Lydia, if I recall them correctly. Do you think you might be...gentle with the Queen? You have such a pretty neck,” he smiled, looking at the pearls that were wound about it. “I should be distressed if she were to order it severed.”

“Could she do that?” demanded Lydia, not having thought of this, “Well, I suppose it is a risk worth taking, for I do not think we ought to be forced to…what in the world was that?”

The large crested carriage had slowed a little as the horses made their way along the edge of a wood, and as the trees thickened, the men on the box gave an inarticulate shout just before the blunderbuss was fired. The Earl of Warwick sat upright on his chair now, alert and intent. All languor was gone when he withdrew from the little holder affixed onto the wall of the carriage, a deadly little weapon, and swiftly moved to sit beside his wife.

“Justin, are we being held up?” asked Lydia, quite breathlessly, “I haven’t ever been...mmmmffph.”

Her husband had swiftly and decisively kissed her mid-sentence. “Lydia, under absolutely no circumstances are you to take any risks. If you are told to hand over your jewells, do so without argument. Do you understand me, my pet? Not. One. Risk.” He sounded very grim and serious. 

Lydia’s opinions on receiving these orders went unvoiced, for a masked man, holding aloft two pistols, appeared at the door of the carriage.

“Stand an’ Deliver!” he said in a rough voice, a little muffled by the scarf tied over his lower face. In the gloomy shadow that was cast by the tall trees lining both sides of the road, all that Lydia could make out beneath the brimmed hat was a pair of hard, narrowed eyes that were menacingly fixed upon her husband. 

The Earl of Warwick very cooly levelled his pistol at the highwayman. 

“I think that I shall not,” he said, and fired. 

The man instantly fell back where he stood and disappeared from view. Running footsteps were heard and another of his fellows appeared at the door, wrenching it open. 

“Yuh killed ‘im! Get out o’ this fancy carriage o’ yours and see if yuh man enough t’face me.” The man, armed similarly with two pistols, one of them obviously spent and smoking, gestured to the Earl to leave the carriage. His own shot now gone, Lord Warwick stood and stepped out. 

“Stay inside, my Lady.” he commanded over his shoulder in stern accents, not turning his head to see if Lydia had meekly nodded or not. The man with the gun flicked his eyes at the finely dressed woman within.

“An yuh. Y’empty that little bag o’ yours and take off them pretties from around yer’ neck. If yuh behave like a good girl I might let you leave alive once I shoot your husband.”

Lydia gasped in frightened outrage and shook her head at him. 

“My pearls?! I shall not. You may have my reticule, I suppose, although I’ll not empty it for you, but my pearls? No! And do not think I shall just sit idly by and permit you to murder His Lordship, either.”

The two men who had been examining each other with wary contempt both whipped their heads toward her at this. His Lordship, far from being gratified by such a spirited defence of his life, appeared to be very irritated and set his thin mouth in a straight line. The highwayman was not at all used to being spoken to in such a way by one of his female victims. Ordinarily they fainted or went into hysterics...this one seemed to be furious. He was so surprised that he was unsure how to respond. He elected, after a moment of gaping, to ignore her and keep his eye on the known danger of a furious gentleman.

“His Lordship, is it? Well, yer Lordship, if yuh could stand by me dead mate o’er there so’s I can shoot yuh, yuh ‘umble servant would be most grateful. An’ missy, y’can empty that there fancy bag or I’ll shoot you next. Now girl, get out o’ that seat and come outside.”

Dismayed, Lydia saw that he was in earnest and watched as her husband went to stand beside the body of the man he had shot. Justin’s eyes flicked quickly to the guns in the dead man’s hands and as quickly slid away. There was one other man on a horse, covering three servants. She opened her reticule a little and moved to the door. Two rough-looking men with pistols to be got rid of by five unarmed people: she did not at all care for the odds. 

It occurred to her in a flash, as she unlooped her reticule, that if she could distract the brute, Justin might be able to reach one of the pistols not so far from his feet. She paused. 

“I need to be handed down,” she said, trying for her most commanding tone. She began well but the slight tremor at the end of her words made her sound petulant instead, and she frowned her annoyance.

The highwayman, gun still levelled at Justin, barely spared her a glance this time. “Yuh need to be whipped is what yuh need. Typical gentlefolk! Useless women and useless men, just living lives of luxury on the backs of us honest poor folk.”

“Very well then, I must make do myself but I demand that you turn your back as I do so. I cannot manage my skirts and the steps, can I?” Justin, although by now heartily agreeing that Lady Warwick deserved some sort of punishment for entirely disregarding him, took advantage of the man’s distraction to step a little closer to the corpse. 

“Yuh demand? I’ll tell y’wench. If you don’t get down from there without any other fussin’ I’ll shoot you and take everythin’ off y’carcass.” 

The highwayman turned his attention back to Lord Warwick and, although knowing that he had the upper hand, quailed at the iciness he saw in the rich man’s pale green eyes. He knew that if this man were armed, he would be as dead as Welsh-Harry, his fellow robber.

Lydia put her hand into her reticule and triumph filled her as her hand closed around the handle of her little pistol. She withdrew it swiftly, and levelled it at the the man who was even now lining up his gun to aim at her husband. Weapon in hand, her fear was now largely replaced with hot fury that coursed through her body and made her white cheeks flush red.

“You ought to know, I have quite decided long ago that no one will harm that man apart from me. Drop your weapon or I will shoot you where you stand and then I’ll be taking everything off your body.”

Wheeling around, the highwayman’s eyes widened in alarm and his mouth gaped. His attention divided, he waved his pistol wildly between Lydia and her husband. 

“A weapon! A woman with a weapon?!” He sounded stupefied, and in his great surprise, rounded on the man responsible. “Did yuh know she had a pistol? I never seen anythin’ like it in all my born days.” 

Lord Warwick, having swiftly stooped down and taken possession of the two guns beside the dead body at his feet, began to look a little amused in spite of his very evident annoyance. Holding one pistol aloft, in what Lydia thought a very dashing fashion, he aimed it at the man covering his servants and called out: 

“You will now drop your weapon and lay yourself down flat on the ground, else I will shoot you from here and believe me, I only miss my shot when I am decidedly drunk.” 

The man, with encouragement from the servants, did so without question. Having seen the lady train her weapon on the leader of their little brigade, he was quite willing to believe anything of these rich folk. Lydia thought him very poor spirited indeed and began to think that she might have managed to defeat such a coward on her own, after all.

“Yes,” said the Earl, with an unpleasant smile, “I was quite aware of Her Ladyship owning a gun, for I bought it for her, you see. She is shaping up to be a very fair shot--from that range I should think she might engage to send a bullet right through you.”

Lydia smiled at her husband then, quite pleased that he had refrained from mentioning the unpleasant incident that almost lost him a favourite dog.

“Yuh mad,” was all the highwayman could manage to say, “mad!”

By this point the Earl’s servants had successfully tied up the man who was lying obediently on the ground, and one of them approached their master for further orders. Lord Warwick handed the driver a weapon. 

“Here, aim this at him--if he moves, shoot him directly. I am quite out of patience with this entire episode and cannot at all summon the energy to prolong it. My Lady Warwick,” this said in gentle tones, “would you care to remove to the carriage again?”

“No,” said Lydia, decisively. “I do not think I would. I think I would rather shoot him, Justin. I do think he deserves it after having given me such a fright and...he was going to kill you.” She said this last part in a less steady voice as her husband came closer to her. “He was going to kill you and leave me all alone and you would be lying dead on the roadside and...oh Justin.” 

“Lydia, my pet--there is no need for these tears now,” he said softly in her ear, “you have been my brave and fearless Lydia, but it is done with.”

“I-I am not a-afraid,” said Lydia, raising the hand not clutching her gun to dash away her tears. “I am just angry, that is all. My pearls, Justin. They w-were all I had of you for six months and he was going to take them away and y-you away too and…”

Her husband carefully removed the little pistol from her grasp and stood between her and the ruffian. 

“Donaldson, tie this man up tightly and load him and his companion onto the rear of the carriage. They will need to be brought to justice. Lady Warwick,” said her Lord in firm tones, “up into the carriage now, if you please.” 

Lydia obeyed her husband but not without hissing quietly back at him, “But I do not please, that is what I have been saying--Oh very well, then, but I am very vexed, for he ought not be permitted to live, my Lord!”

A loud, echoing crack issued from behind them, just as Lord Warwick was handing Lydia up into the carriage. She stood on the step and peered around her husband just as the injured party howled in pain.

“Oh,” she said, sounding a little happier. “That is well, then.”

Not turning around, Lord Warwick closed his eyes for a moment, as though searching for some previously unknown reserves of patience. 

“I beg your pardon, my Lord--the fellow raised his gun toward you and I thought I had better fire,” said Donaldson, defensively.

His master’s cold green eyes rested for a moment on the writhing highwayman before he ushered her ladyship into the carriage and, once having carefully that ensured her train was properly within, shut the door. 

Lord Warwick was not fool enough to request that his wife draw the shade on the window; he knew Lydia well enough, and so avoided wasting his breath. She would doubtless watch everything that would occur with her little nose pressed flat to the glass.

The highwayman was bleeding profusely and judging by the way he clutched at his stomach would certainly not survive. The Earl set his jaw. 

“Donaldson, you will climb on the box and drive the carriage some thirty yards down the road. Inform the Countess that I will be within very shortly. You are to prohibit any kind of a view of this fellow from her eyes.”

The servant nodded once and scurried off. The servant who remained looked grim. “It’ll be a mercy, sir.” Lord Warwick flicked an icy glance up to him and the servant did not dare offer any more of his opinions.

Some minutes later, the Earl of Warwick stepped up into his carriage to see his wife bent over his hat in the corner, retching.

“I’m not sorry about spoiling your hat in the least, Justin,” said the Countess between gasps, “for it is quite your fault. Donaldson absolutely refused to let me out of the carriage.”

Her husband laid a gentle hand on her back and with the other held back her artful curls as she leant over the hat again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, relieved that she was safe. 

“It does matter, Justin, I am very...annoyed!”

“I suppose you will find a way to blame me for the whole, regardless of whether or not I could have helped any of it,” said the Earl, fishing out his handkerchief and wetting it from a bottle. “Here, Lydia, wipe your mouth with this.”

“Thank you. I am a very reasonable woman, my Lord, but I do think that to be confined to a carriage when one is about to be unwell is the very worst thing. Do throw the hat out of the door, please. I do not know that I can tolerate the smell.”

His Lordship did so. “Are you always ill in such a fashion when you have an adventure, my pet?” he asked, hauling her to his side and quite crushing her beautiful dress.

“I don’t know,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder, “this is only the second proper adventure I have had.”

“I am sorry that you have been distressed, but I suppose I had better tell you that I am really almost cross with you. I told you quite plainly that you were not to risk yourself.”

“I didn’t!”

“You didn’t? I suppose your insistence that you would keep your pearls was intended to placate the fellow, eh?”

“I could not be expected to just hand them over, Justin! I think it a very good thing that I acted as I did, for it meant that you had time to get those other weapons, and yes, I do think one almost might say that I saved your neck. Really, my Lord, you ought to be grateful to me instead of giving me a scold.”

“Grateful! Lydia, I had it well in hand. My only concern was that you should be kept safe, a concern, I might add, which you ran roughshod over with nary a thought. Do you think I can bear the thought of you harmed?” 

“Well in hand? Well in hand? Doubtless your walking to stand where you were told in order to be shot was all part of it and you were, in fact, intending to save the day after coming back as a ghost?”

The Earl’s lips twitched. 

“I was intending to jump out of the way and retrieve the dead highwayman’s weapons as I did so.”

“How marvellous, I am so very impressed. No, stop the carriage, I need to be ill again.”

“Use your bonnet,” suggested her husband, callously; he was evidently very much rattled by the entire episode.

Lydia’s lip trembled. “I do not know how you can suggest such an awful thing,” she said, and she burst into tears.

Lord Warwick banged on the ceiling and the carriage halted. Donaldson came to the door. “Hand her Ladyship down, Donaldson, she needs to disembark.”

Lydia did not look at him once, but made her way to a large oak tree, and was violently ill behind it. Feeling entirely horrid from the roiling in her stomach, she leant her forehead against the bark of the tree and gave in to noisy sobs.

A heavy hand rested on her shoulder and in one swift motion she squealed, reached into her pocket, and turning on the spot, pointed her weapon into the face of her assailant.

“I thought you didn’t want to shoot me any more, Lydia,” said her husband.

Lowering her gun, she bit her lip. “I thought you might be another highwayman.” 

“Oh, my darling,” he smiled, and pulled her to him. “As though I did not have my gun at the ready the whole time you were behind this tree. Come, you are very ill and overwrought--let us get into the carriage and we will journey on to Pemberley. You will feel better by and by.”

Lydia wound her arms about his waist, beneath his coat, and mumbled something into the heavy woolen folds.

He tipped her chin up. “Say that again, my pet.”

“I said, I won’t. I am very likely pregnant. I want to talk to Lizzy, though, to be certain.”

The Countess of Warwick did not sound overjoyed by the notion. 

“You are unhappy with this? I thought women liked babies.” 

“Well, it is just that I like things as they are, Justin. I do not think I am very maternally minded--I will get fat and you will grow bored of me and then…”

“One moment, if you please, Lydia. A man does not grow bored of a wife who saves his hide in one moment and then pulls out a pistol at him in the next. It just does not happen.”

“Well, there is that, I suppose,” said Lydia, feeling a little more cheerful. “If you will still love me I do not mind so very much, but you must not expect me to coo over a child in the way that my sisters do. Theodore was so very ugly when he was born and Lizzy looked at him as though he were the most delightful thing--it was all I could do not to correct her.”

“I expect nothing of you than to be my darling wife. That is all.” 

“Darling?” said Lydia, tilting her head at the new endearment. “Let us go on then, I want to shock Jane and her horrid sister-in-law with tales of us fighting off an army of highwaymen.”

Some three hours later, Lydia was sat in a light, airy salon sipping delicately fragranced tea from a delightfully painted cup. “I am sure that there were at least a dozen of them, Jane! It was vastly shocking, you know. I cannot think how we dared to travel on.”

“It is so very upsetting, Lydia. I am glad that the Earl fought them off as he did. How dreadful if something should have happened to you,” said Mrs. Bingley, the very picture of dismayed loveliness in a printed rose silk gown.

Miss Bingley, less lovely in red, sniffed and raised a doubtful eyebrow. There was something that did not quite ring true in Lady Warwick’s tale, although if the Earl did not correct her, there was little she could do herself, but she would patiently wait to catch the Countess out in her ridiculous story.

Miss Bingley had not quite forgiven the penniless Lydia Bennet for ignoring her kindly meant advice during the season. Approaching her at a ball one evening, quite filled with envy at the young girl’s popularity, she had advised her to set her sights on a gentleman of comfortable rank and not aim too high. Miss Bennet, having just finished a set with Beau Brummell himself, had snorted and rudely asked her if she was going to take her own suggestion to finally find herself a husband. Miss Bingley had deliberately forgotten most of the exchange, but she was quite unable to forget having been called a ‘dried up, sad old spinster,’ in a dreadful return to her well-intended counsel. She had been desirous ever since to knock Miss Bennet off her undeserved pedestal of conceit.

Opportunity came two evenings later, when she walked about the room, waiting for dear Mrs. Kentmire to give way to her on the pianoforte, and she happened to overhear the Earl speaking softly to his wife on a comfortable sofa as she passed behind them. 

“...quite the dashing hero, am I not, my pet? I daresay I will even cope admirably in the face of you aiming your pistol at me in the future.”

Miss Bingley, quite gleefully shocked, hurried away from them.

The next morning, she sat herself beside Mrs. Kentmire at breakfast and, the Warwicks not having yet come down, related what she had overheard. The rest of the table made sufficient noise to cover her tale, Mrs. Collins being in conversation with Jane and her brother making a valiant effort with Mr. Collins.

“I am convinced that such a vulgar creature must have encouraged the Earl into such an improper remark in public, but then given her less than exalted origins, one ought not to be so very surprised.” 

“Are you so very sure that you overheard correctly, Miss Bingley?” said Georgiana, a little doubtfully. “It is very possible that the Earl was speaking in jest.” 

Miss Bingley considered this. “Yes, that is very true, dear Mrs. Kentmire, you are so very sensible--but I do not think that this would entirely explain his use of such a very personal endearment in company. I should be mortified if my husband were to call me such a thing as a ‘pet’ in public.”

“Such a fate is unlikely to befall you, Miss Bingley,” murmured a smooth, snide voice from behind her. 

Miss Bingley, swallowing, turned her head too sharply and felt a hot pain travel up her neck. She found the Earl examining her as though she were some crawling insect, ready to be squashed beneath his boot. She had never seen a snake, but being well educated, she had read about them and decided that the Earl’s eyes were just as she would expect a snake’s to look before it pounced.

Mrs. Darcy, struggling to conceal her smile, having seen him enter and electing to remain silent as he stood listening to whatever Miss Bingley was being unpleasant about, bade her sister good morning as she entered the room, a little behind her husband. 

“You are still unable to rise early, dearest?” she asked, lightly. “I am quite astonished that Lady Catherine did not cure you of your penchant for lateness when you were with her in Bath.”

“The fault is mine, Mrs. Darcy,” said her newest brother-in-law. “I too have always struggled of a morning, Her Ladyship has graciously permitted breakfast to be set back an hour at Warwick.” He turned his cold, unpleasant gaze to Miss Bingley and continued, “It is yet more evidence of her superiority as a wife--I do not think that there could have been a more perfect Countess of Warwick than the one I have chosen.”

Miss Bingley, quite red-faced and feeling decidedly awkward, found herself made further uncomfortable by the warm reception that this speech was met with by the others who sat at table. 

That night, after the activities of the day were done, Mrs. Bingley approached her husband. “Charles, I am a little concerned for Caroline, she was telling me the most unlikely of tales this afternoon...I do not wish to seem harsh, my dear, but I am afraid...I am a little afraid that her mind may not be quite sound.”

Mr. Bingley, well aware that his sweet wife would not have mentioned such a shocking thing if she were not greatly perturbed, asked her what might have prompted her to think so.

“I shall not repeat some of the dreadful things she said about Lydia, but she said...Charles, she said that my dear sister was a hoyden and would likely bring disgrace upon our whole family. It is not merely that, she seemed to think that Lydia would own a...a pistol and would murder us all in our beds!” Mrs. Bingley straightened her husband’s cravat into a more pleasing, neater crease and continued. “The rest I could attribute to some unpleasant misunderstanding, but when she started speaking of weapons, my dear, I began to think that she may not be of quite sound mind. A pistol, Charles...and my littlest sister!”

Some six months later, the Countess of Warwick was brought to bed for the delivery of her firstborn child. A gruelling night passed, and the by the time the sun rose the following morning, the eminent doctor left the house pleased with his night’s work. The Countess had done her duty well and had been safely delivered of a son. It was always pleasant, thought the doctor, to be able to assure an expectant father that the family line was to remain secure and unbroken by entailments. He did not mention the decidedly off-colour insults that Her Ladyship had screeched at him when he insisted on examining her. Doctor Perrault had never met a fishwife, but he rather suspected that Lady Warwick had--where else could she have learnt such a varied vocabulary? He stepped into the street; the air was cold on his skin. Doubtless the thick fog would hang over the river as they crossed the bridge; it was often so on the Thames, of an autumn morning. He wearily climbed into his carriage. No doubt a nurse had washed the infant by now and swaddled him. She would likely take the infant away to the nursery and the Countess would not lay eyes on him for a week or two. 

He may have been surprised to hear that the reality was quite different. Although the Earl had indeed engaged many nurses for the care of his future child, the Countess, upon being handed a squalling, red-faced infant, had stared at the boy in absolute shock and wonder. The Earl, having dashed up the carpeted stairs as soon as the doctor had gone, was privileged to witness the moment in which Lydia first met her son.

A trembling finger brushed away the unevenly grown patch of hair from his forehead. That same finger traced the deep crease above his nose and softly stroked his cheek. The babe opened his eyes for a brief blinking look at his Mama and Lydia gasped. 

“Justin! His eyes are green! Oh, how...I cannot...he is so perfect, is he not beautiful?”

The Earl leant over to examine the boy and smiled. Having a healthy sense of self-preservation, he gravely agreed, but almost laughed aloud when his wife demanded another child as soon as may be. 

“I need another one, my Lord.”

The exhausted maid who was currently carrying out the bundle of bedclothes, bloodied from the night’s work, heard this and missed her step. The Earl did not even blink but his eyes twinkled. 

“Well, I did promise you whatever you wanted, my pet. Do you think you might permit me to recover from this one first? I shall have to buy you a new jewel set to mark the occasion--do you want rubies or emeralds?”

Lydia ignored him; she was busily absorbed in her son. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her and she looked at her husband in dismay.

“I have just thought, he will grow up and want to marry!”

“Not for some time yet though, my darling,” reassured her husband, “he will be little for quite some time to come and will only want his Mama for a good long while, I should think.”

“Yes,” said Lydia, impatiently, “but you do not understand. What shall we do? I cannot at all think that anything less than a princess will be good enough for him and...and they are almost invariably very ugly!”


End file.
